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Al, Katie, Matt and frozen fans are having a ball
By Doug Robinson
Deseret News columnist
PARK CITY — Today I'm reporting to you live from the Olympic "Today" show venue, where a couple hundred people have gathered in the freezing, pre-dawn darkness to say hello to close friends they've never met before.
They've come to greet Al, Katie and Matt, who have set up shop at The Canyons ski resort to broadcast Olympic-themed shows. (The first thing you learn is that no viewer ever calls them by anything other than their first names.)
What would cause people to get out of bed at 4 a.m. just to watch people engage in three hours of chitchat?
"We just love Al, Katie and Matt," said one woman.
That's one explanation; the other would be they're nuts.
I wouldn't get up at 4 a.m. unless alien spaceships were landing in my yard.
"I don't think I would get up that early to see me," said Al, or Big Al as he is called by some of his good buddies who are perfect strangers.
But Pam and Val would. They woke up at 2:30 and drove from Orem to Park City to watch Al, Katie and Matt go to "work" or, if you prefer, "talk." They were among the first to arrive — at 4:20 a.m. They held up a sign asking for a kiss from either Matt or Al; I can't remember which, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Katie.
"We didn't get a kiss, but we're glad we came," they said.
The Winder sisters — Karen, Wendy, Nancy — arrived at 5. The night before the show they made a practice drive to The Canyons to make sure the next morning's drive would go smoothly. They got a bonus for their trouble.
"They invited us to participate in the fondue segment," one of them said.
"I would've worn mascara if I had known," said another sister.
The Olympics are going on all around them, but every morning people gather in the snow or in the lobby of the lodge to watch Al, Matt and Katie from 5 a.m. to 8. They bring infants, dogs, neighbors, siblings, spouses and signs — WE LOVE YOU, AL. MISSOURI LOVES COMPANY. I'M COMING HOME, MOM. BE MY VALENTINE.
"A lot of the same people come every day," one resort employee tells me.
The visitors call out to the show's hosts and sometimes get to chat with them on or off the air. When Katie — that's what I call her now — asked one man where his coat was, he answered by saying, "Oh, I think you're wonderful." (Reply I wish Katie had given: Answer the question, you dope.) He gave her flowers, and after Katie left, the man acted as if Katie just asked him on a date. "Yeeeessss! Yeeeeessss! I can't believe it." Then he went for his cell phone.
"It's a good gig," Big Al told me later in the hospitality suite. "People are nice to us. We come into their homes every morning when they are most vulnerable. They're in their pajamas, they haven't brushed their teeth or combed their hair. We become familiar. They see us every day. We are who we are. We don't play characters. It's just us."
You'd like Al. He's the same Al you see on TV as near as I can tell. He doesn't take himself too seriously — "I'm not a celebrity," he says. "I'm someone who's on TV."
Is anybody having more fun at the Olympics than Al and his co-hosts? Since coming to Salt Lake City they have snowboarded, sledded, snowmobiled, eaten good food, listened to live music and schmoozed with people who adore them.
"I always think of that old bit that Steve Martin did," says Roker. He pretends to be strumming a banjo like the comedian and sings, "And this is what is best of all — I . . . get paid . . . for doing . . . this."
Like others, Roker came to Salt Lake City wondering about Utahns' humorless reputation, but that myth was quickly dispelled. During a break in a show with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Al turned to the choir and jokingly said, "Do you do the wave?"
A woman shot back, "Do you want it front to back or side to side?"
The wave began. Moments later, Big Al was required to do a sound check, so he clapped his hands and sang, "There was a farmer had a dog . . . "
Let Big Al finish the story: "And the entire choir joined in — 'and Bingo was his name-oh, B-I-N . . . ' Who knew the Mormon Tabernacle choir had a sense of humor?"
Back outside, the crowd is beginning to break up. "After you watch it here, you go home and watch yourself on TV," a woman explains to me.
"My fingers are frozen," said one fan jogging to the parking lot.
Doug Robinson's column runs daily through the Games. You can e-mail him at drob@desnews.com .
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February 15, 2002
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